Inescapable
by Vema
Summary: Mother knows best. WARNINGS: Murder, incest, smut, and heavily implied necrophilia.


Inescapable

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 _Norman/Mother. This is **SUPER** fucked up._

 _I mean, I have no idea how I came up with this, except that maybe my brain needed a break from my fluffy Soul Bates story because of all the terrible in my life recently and created this monstrosity. Spoilers for the movie Psycho if you've never seen it, though I changed the circumstances of Norma's death a bit._ _Set after Norma is gone and Norman is running the hotel himself. Please leave me any feedback you might have for me on this._

 _ **WARNING: Murder and heavily implied necrophilia.**_

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Norman wrapped the body in the bed linens he had found it on, dragging her from the bed and wincing at the sound her head made crashing into the floor.

"For God's sake, Norman. She's dead. What does it matter? It's not like she can _feel_ it."

"Don't talk to me right now, Mother," he said sternly, examining the mattress. "And her name was Karen." The blood had seeped through the pad; the whole mattress would have to be replaced, unless he wanted to spend hours bleaching the thing. He would probably bleach it; it was more cost effective.

"Of course you know her name. You're such a disappointment." His mother's voice held disgust. "Better get her on the tile before the carpet is ruined like the mattress."

"I asked you to stop talking!" he bellowed. "This is all your fault! You can't keep killing the guests, Mother!"

"Is it?" Norman turned to her in the corner of the hotel room, resplendent with bright curls, rosy cheeks, and a soft, sky blue sweater. Her flowered dress emphasized her chest and ended just below the knee, leaving much to his overactive imagination. Her hands, oh her hands were covered in dark red blood just like his own now. "Is it my fault that she was flirting with you? That you flirted back?"

"I wouldn't have done anything with her!" he insisted, now dragging the dead weight in the linens towards the tile. "You know that!"

"Then what were you doing?" she asked scathingly as he dropped his burden on the bathroom floor. "She asked to meet you for drinks later, and you said yes!" The last word was a hiss, an accusation accompanied by a piercing gaze.

Norman shook his head several times, feeling something was off. "I was being polite. It was nothing." When he looked up again, Mother was reclining on the bloodstained mattress, her sweater discarded. "I'm sorry..."

"Come on, Norman. I'm the only one who understands you..." She pushed the elastic neckline of her dress down to display her breasts, spreading her legs. Wherever her hands touched, fingerprints in gore were left behind. "Let Mommy take care of you, honey."

"But the body..." he protested weakly. He was drawn inexorably towards her, landing between her thighs and feeling the cold blood on the mattress soaking into this pant legs.

"Norman," she stated, holding his gaze. "I want you back inside me..." With a desperate groan, he unbuttoned his pants and pushed his waistband down. He shoved his length into her, letting her hold him gently. "That's right, baby. You should have stayed in here..." she said softly, hands on his shoulders.

"I love you, Mother," he groaned into her skin, latching onto a hard nipple.

"Do you? She was trying to take you away from me!" his mother exclaimed, too still beneath him. "And you were going to let her!"

"No... No one could take me away from you... Never..." he kissed her skin, stiff and dusty, and he lost himself, thrusting into her frantically with no regard to her needs. He shot his semen into her cold channel, burying his face in her unforgiving neck. "Mother!"

Norman breathed hard as the last pulses left him, and he had a brief moment of confusion. His mother's soft, porcelain skin was gray and stiff, her sweet blue eyes dark and hollow. He moved back from her in horror, watching his body's issue pool as it seeped out from her still body. "Mother!" he cried in despair, a vision of her laying contorted and bloody filling his head.

"Don't worry, Norman, I'm always here," he heard her say sweetly, and she sat up on the bloodstained bed, golden and new. She sauntered over to him, hands leaving damning red smears on his cheeks. "Now get rid of this slut. The pot roast is almost done."

He swallowed back his fear, letting her image and voice sooth him. "Yes, Mother."

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~fin

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End file.
